Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 99325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Chapter 21
Magnus grew as rigid as a stone statue, his heart turning cold, his soul locked stubbornly away. Reena kissed him out of pity. He wanted none of her pity; he wanted her love.
But her tender fumbling began to warm his heart. She barely knew how to kiss, yet here she was, attempting to kiss his troubles away with soft, sweet lips that reminded him of warm honey. And she tried hard to keep herself steady on her tiptoes, so determined was she to kiss him.
Nay, not merely kiss, but comfort and ease his painful memories. He admonished himself for his foolish thoughts. Reena would not pity herself, therefore she would not pity another. She was different, special, and damned if he was not falling in love with the pint-size lass.
So why, then, did he feel angry instead of happy?
Her mouth whispered across his again, only this time the tip of her tongue faintly touched his lips and sent him into a spin. His heart crumbled and his soul rejoiced and his body responded in quick succession.
Angry.
The answer was simple, he thought, as his arms wrapped around her and pulled her up against him.
He wanted her love and he wanted it now. It mattered not why he found the slim wisp of a lass appealing; he simply did. They had worked side by side these winter months and had grown to learn more and more about each other and they had touched and kissed—and now?
He wanted her more than he ever thought possible.
“Damn, Reena, you tempt my soul,” he whispered and kissed her with a passion that stole her breath and warmed her soul.
He took charge of the kiss, and soon they tasted each other like two starving souls needing nourishment. While they feasted, Magnus grabbed hold of her small waist, lifted her so that her feet no longer touched the floor, and walked toward the table.
He let her stand on her feet a mere few seconds while he shoved things aside, then he grabbed hold of her, dropped her back on the table, slipped over her, and braced his hands flat on the table at the sides of her head.
He then proceeded to nibble at her soft, delicious neck. “Damn, but I want you, Reena,” he claimed over and over in between succulent nibbles.
She moaned, enjoying his sensuous nibbles and the feel of his body so strong and hard against her. And he was not the only one who wanted. She could think of nothing else but him, the feel, the taste and the passion; it overwhelmed her.
His hand found her small breasts, and he gave each a loving squeeze before running a gentle hand along her waist, over her stomach. When he rested his hand firmly between her legs she lost all sense and reason.
Her eager response fired his loins, and he captured her hungry moans with his own hungry lips.
“Magnus, Magnus.” His name was a litany on her lips, and it grew in intensity as her hands reached out and touched him.
What brought him to his senses he did not know—perhaps it was the urgent passion of his name on her lips, or the way her small hands eagerly ran over his body, or how her own body responded so willingly to his touch. Whatever it was, it mattered not. What mattered was this: The first time they made love would not be on a table in his solar.
He eased himself off her with great reluctance, especially when her small hands grabbed for him. He held them tight in his, and their heated eyes settled on each other.
She saw the passion in his eyes, and yet he stopped without saying a word, and she wondered. When he touched her did he find her unappealing: were her breasts too small, her body too slim? Why, when it seemed they were on the brink of joining, did he stop? She wished she had the courage to ask him, but she could not, for she worried over his answer. She suddenly felt the need for solitude, or was it escape from her concern and doubt?
Magnus helped her off the table.
She was relieved when a knock sounded at the door and a servant advised he was needed in the tower room.
He was annoyed, wanting time to discuss his intentions with her, but then his lingering passion would probably interfere with sound reason, and nothing would be accomplished. At least that was what he attempted to tell himself, but the ache in his groin was adamantly disagreeing. “We will speak later,” he said and left the room.
She was glad for his departure. She needed time alone. Her feelings for Magnus were growing in leaps and bounds. She missed him when he was not near, and she felt his hurt when she saw it in his eyes. She was becoming a part of him, or was he becoming a part of her? Or was there a difference?